The Truth is a Matter of Circumstances
by Maxiekat
Summary: Based loosely on the descriptions of the footage shown at D23, so there may be SPOILERS. Bucky is trapped in a cage, put there by people Steve called friends. Now Steve doesn't know who to trust and Natasha is telling him that the person he should trust the least is the one he wants so desperately to save. One Shot. COMPLETE


**The Truth is a Matter of Circumstances**

Turns out the government had secret bases with secret rooms built for holding a new class of threats, as General Ross had so calmly explained to Steve. _Threats._ To Steve they were the people he fought alongside and trusted. To people like Ross, they were threats. Hell, he was probably at the top of their watch list because he was, as Tony had said, too fucking steadfast in his beliefs for his own good.

After finding his one refuge after waking up was infested with HYDRA, he found it hard to put blind faith in any organization. His gut had gotten him this far and his gut was telling him the accords were no good – that the government was heading toward a slippery slope and that once they took that final step, there would be no coming back from it.

The long elevator ride into the underground bunker gave him time to think – for his anger to level out and for his initial instinct to just punch his way through everything in front of him to dissipate. They were taking him down to the prisoner level to show them where they were keeping Bucky as a show of good faith. Tony didn't want a war, but Bucky was dangerous. This was the right thing to do. Accepting that he needed to be locked up would show everyone that Steve was willing to cooperate, to let the government handle things. Bucky wasn't just _a_ threat, Tony had explained, he was _the_ threat and he needed to be neutralized and apparently a hole dug hundreds of feet under the ground was where just such a threat belonged.

After the ambush, Tony told him to trust him. That things were under control. He claimed Bucky was being taken into custody for his own safety. After some monitoring and answering some questions, he'd be a free man. Steve couldn't tell if Tony knew he was lying or if he really thought he was telling the truth.

The room they'd brought Steve to was the security station on the cell block level. One wall was covered in monitors with feeds to all the cells and one feed in particular had Steve's attention - his best friend, locked in a cage, put there by people he wasn't sure he could consider friends any longer. The cage was a design of Tony's – Hulk proof glass, though smaller than anything they'd ever built to contain the Hulk. Bucky had been wild when they'd sealed the room, throwing himself against the walls, frantic to break the glass with his metal arm. Eventually, he'd given up, sliding down to the floor, curling in on himself, defeated. He hadn't moved in over an hour and Steve was beginning to think he preferred the rage.

There was a microphone attached to the desk, the press of the button at the base of it would let him communicate with the prisoner in the glass cage. Tony had been shouting into it in a pointless attempt to calm Bucky down when a soldier had escorted Steve into the room – though by the time Steve had gotten there, it had devolved into taunts and accusations instead of negotiations. Steve had slammed Tony against the wall when he heard what he was shouting into the mic but there was no convincing the man that he was wrong about Bucky.

Bucky had come back to him and his reward was being locked up, scared and alone. Steve felt responsible, the guilt gnawing at him – Tony and Ross may have turned the key, but it was his actions that had led them to Bucky in the first place. Steve tightened his hands on Tony's shoulders, his grip bruising, as panic flooded him, his chest tightening like a long forgotten asthma attack. He had to do something, but he hadn't felt that hopeless since the helicarrier.

Tony squirmed his way out of Steve's hold – spitting out a speech about Howard and his mother and the past and things that can't be undone. Steve stopped listening at that point. It didn't matter – what he said had no impact on Tony and what Tony said had no impact on him. It was like trying to move mountains with sheer willpower and hope and it wasn't getting anyone anywhere. Eventually, Tony left and Steve sank into a chair, too tired to argue, too tired to even think.

The screens flickered, catching Steve's attention, but Bucky hadn't moved. Steve stared at that microphone, wanting desperately to press the button and find the words to let Bucky know he wasn't alone, that he'd get him out. But the words wouldn't come. He'd failed. Again. Considering his track record, failing Bucky Barnes was going to be his legacy.

Fidgeting with the microphone, he heard the tell-tale click-clack of heels behind him but he didn't turn around. He knew who it was. She could be deadly silent when she wanted to, but there was no need for stealth here. They had what they wanted. His _friends_.

"You can't trust him. You know that, right?" Natasha asked as she walked in front of him, casually leaning her hip against the desk, forcing Steve to scoot his chair back to give her room.

"He knows me. He remembers me," he said, squaring his shoulders.

"Let me guess," she said, tilting her head as she looked down at him, "he remembered some details about when you guys were kids. How nice your mother was. How you made it through the hard times together. Friends forever and all that jazz."

Steve clenched his jaw, but didn't say anything.

Shaking her head, she pulled her cellphone out of her pocket as she turned around, her back to Steve, quickly typing something. Less than a minute later, she turned back, holding out her phone, the screen a bright white, the title of the website clearer than day. "Wikipedia. _Steve Rogers, alias Captain America. 1918 to present_ ," she recited. "And that's just if I need to get some facts quickly. Barnes has had two years."

"That doesn't prove anything."

"How many biographies are written about you? How many documentaries have aired on the History Channel? How much about your trusty sidekick is in those? And isn't there a museum exhibit at the Smithsonian, mapping out your life?"

"Like I said, that doesn't prove anything. He knows things that aren't in the pages of a book or the walls of a museum."

Her expression softened and she bit her lower lip. "Steve," her voice was different, pleading, sad. "Remember when there was no heat and we had to steal coal for the stove? Remember how your mom would scold you because you went out without your coat? 'You'll catch your death,' she said as you left for school. Remember?"

Steve stared at her, his fingers digging into the arms of the chair, a rage hotter than anything Tony had ignited threatening to boil over. "How dare you." His voice was low, his tone clear. He'd had enough of this shit.

She tilted her head, her expression instantly going back to the neutral calm she always wore, but there was a softening around her eyes. Empathy. He'd seen it a few times from her – not everyone knew just how good of a friend Natasha Romanoff could be when she cared about you and he was finally seeing flashes of the woman he'd bonded with during the mess in Washington. "Steve, it's what we were trained to do."

He stood up and started to pace, unable to look at her as she spoke, her words like a knife, slicing slowly at his resolve. "Study the target," she said. "Pick up cues. Do research – what matters to them? What about their family? Are they leverage? Flesh out your details to make them sound more natural, more real. Befriend the target. Drop your first few morsels as bait. Reel them in."

"Nat …"

"Kill them," she interrupted before he could say anything else.

Steve stopped pacing and stopped in front of the monitors, watching Bucky in the cage, not moving. "I owe him. He'd do the same for me."

"And if he kills you?"

"Then I die trying to help the best friend I've ever had. I can live with that."

"Well …" Natasha started, her mouth quirking up at the corner.

Steve sighed, realizing what he'd said. "You know what I mean."

She stood up, crossing her arms. "You're the most stubborn man I know."

His mouth twisted in a grin. "You sure about that? Tony? Stark? Ringing any bells?"

"You're worse. It's the quiet, steadfast ones you have to look out for."

"I know what I know. I know what I believe in and I believe in my friend."

Natasha leaned down, her mouth near the microphone. "If you betray him, James, so help me …" she said and Steve scrunched up his brow, confused.

"What …" he started but a crackling sound broadcasting through unseen speakers silenced him.

"Understood," a familiar, rough voice said.

"Sit tight," Natasha said into the mic. "Couple more things to work out here, then we'll be on the move." She hit the button Steve hadn't seen her depress in the first place. Apparently, Bucky had heard their whole conversation.

Steve looked up at the monitor but there was no change in the image coming from the room. Bucky looked asleep. He hurried over to the observation window. The cell was several yards away, but he could see Bucky and he was standing in the room, staring at the ceiling. Another glance at the monitors - Bucky still huddled on the floor.

"Nat …"

"A loop. It's been playing for the last 5 minutes. I recorded it. It will buy you guys some time."

"Time for what?"

She rolled her eyes. "What do you think?"

"You're helping me?"

"I'm helping both of you," she answered.

"But … why? I thought … Tony." He was talking in half sentences and his brain was fighting to catch up.

"Call it paying it forward."

Understanding washed over Steve. "Clint."

"The idiot with the bow. Told you, it's the quiet ones you have to look out for." She smiled and he could tell her mind was a million miles away, years in the past when a second chance was offered and she took it. She nodded toward the cage. "He's not going to make it out of there without you."

"I know."

She opened the door. "So let's go do something about it."


End file.
